Something Mystical

i don’t know what about it, she says

but this place felt, different

this hill felt, steeper

those little yellow flowers 

always blooming brighter

each time warmly, bent softly

against a green bed for 

laying amongst bugs, and living

between the glittering grass.

do you think, maybe, 

it’s because we’ve seen 

the world beyond wet 

weeds and ticked skin

that we sit silently wanting

nothing more but to get back to

where we were before?